Behind The Iron Curtain
by paperstorm
Summary: Even though Dean had himself convinced it was over between them, it never stopped him from wanting it. A tag for Bugs, 1x8. Mentions of past Wincest, rating is mostly for language. Part of my Deleted Scenes series.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Bugs', it belongs to Eric Kripke, Rachel Nave and Bill Coakley.  
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**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

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><p>"Hey, so with that kid back there," Dean begins cautiously. "How could you tell him to just ditch his family like that?"<p>

Sam shrugs. "Just, uh … I know what the kid's going through."

"How 'bout telling him to respect his old man, how's that for advice?" Dean asks icily. Technically Sam had been talking directly to Matt when he said all those things, but to Dean it felt more like he was trying to get across some kind of passive-aggressive message.

"Dean, come on," Sam sighs. He stops walking and turns to Dean so he can look him in the eye. "This isn't about his old man. You think I didn't respect Dad, that's what this is about."

Dean rolls his eyes. That's exactly what it's about, actually, but the look on Sam's face tells Dean this probably isn't an argument he's going to win. Sam's got a giant chip on this shoulder when it comes to their Dad, he always has. "Just forget it, alright? Sorry I brought it up."

"I respected him," Sam continues emphatically. "But no matter what I did, it was never good enough."

"So what're you saying, that Dad was disappointed in you?"

"Was?" Sam repeats incredulously. "Is! Always has been!"

"Why would you think that?" Dean asks softly; sadly. He knows they've never seen eye-to-eye on this subject, but he'd think after all this time Sam would be able to look passed Dad's shortcomings and realize everything he ever did came from a good place. Dean wasn't always completely happy with the way they grew up either, but he never doubted that their Dad loved them.

"Because I didn't wanna bow-hunt, or hustle pool," Sam answers in a tired voice. "Because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which in _our_ whacked-out family, made _me_ the freak."

Dean chuckles a little in spite of himself. "Yeah, you were kinda like the blond chick in the Munsters."

"Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud. Most dads don't toss their kids out of the house."

"I remember that fight," Dean replies cooly. "In fact, I seem to remember a few choice phrases comin' outta your mouth."

Sam huffs a humorless laugh. "You know, truth is, when we finally do find Dad, I don't know if he's even gonna wanna see me."

"Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you," Dean says, shaking his head firmly. "Never. He was scared."

"What're you talking about?" Sam scoffs.

"He was afraid of what could've happened to you if he wasn't around!" Dean insists. "But even when you two weren't talking, he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. To keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe."

Sam's face falls a little. "What?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't he tell me any of that?" he asks, eyebrows knitting together in a confused frown.

"Well it's a two-way street, dude. You could've picked up the phone."

Sam just looks even more crestfallen at Dean's words. His eyes go kind of dull and he swallows thickly. Dean isn't happy to have put that look on his brother's face, but it still feels like a tiny victory – like maybe he's finally starting to get through to Sam.

"C'mon, we're gonna be late for our appointment," he says briskly, not really wanting to rub it in, and he turns on his heel and walks quickly toward the school, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if Sam's following or not.

Watching Sam chat easily with Matt, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder, unsettles something uncomfortable in Dean's stomach. He's not really sure why; Sam has every right to say goodbye to the kid who's life they saved last night, but for whatever reason it has a lump forming in Dean's throat that makes it hurt to swallow. Maybe because Sam never smiles at _him_ like that. Not anymore, anyway. Watching him joke and chuckle and shake the father's hand again – Dean's pretty sure that's the most relaxed he's seen Sam since they started hunting together again. It's stupid to be jealous, but sometimes there's still a twinge in Dean's chest whenever there's a smile on Sam's face that Dean didn't put there. It's leftover from all those years ago when Dean was the most important thing in Sam's whole world – when he used to look up at Dean with stars in his eyes, like his big brother was _everything_ – and Dean misses that more than he'd care to admit.

More and more lately, he's starting to feel like Sam doesn't need him anymore. It's becoming increasingly obvious how much Sam grew up while he was away at school, and to be honest Dean's not entirely sure he likes it. It's dumb, and any psychiatrist with half a brain would probably blame it on an entirely dysfunctional family dynamic, but Dean can't help it. He likes to be needed, especially by Sam. His whole existence is built around taking care of Sam – if he doesn't have that anymore, then what does he have? A car and some guns and a life that's pretty much entirely bullshit. In other words, a whole lot of nothing. Dean's not sure why it's hitting him so hard at that moment, but it is, and when Sam makes his way back over, Dean finds it more difficult than it usually is to let his walls slip back into place.

"I wanna find Dad," Sam says softly, leaning against the Impala beside Dean and watching wistfully as Mr. Pike throws an arm around his son.

"Yeah, me too."

"Yeah, but I just … I wanna apologize to him."

Dean glances over at his brother's worried expression and dejected posture. "For what?"

"All the things I said to him." Sam exhales heavily. "He was just doin' the best he could."

Dean nods. "Well don't worry, we'll find him. And you'll apologize, and then within five minutes you guys'll be at each others throats."

Sam laughs, dimples carving into his cheeks and Dean can't help the warmth that spreads across his chest.

"Yeah, probably," Sam says, still smiling so big it lights up his whole face. "Let's hit the road."

"Let's," Dean agrees.

He finds the interstate and heads south – he's not aiming for anywhere in particular, this is just what they do after a hunt. It's comforting, at least to Dean it is. The open road, the rumble of the Impala, music Sam hates blaring through the shitty speakers. When they don't have another hunt lined up right away, Dean really likes just driving to nowhere for a little while. Close to a half hour goes by before either of them says anything, and Dean soaks up the comfortable silence; it feels like forever since they've just been able to exist together and not feel the need to be yelling or arguing or talking about how the hell they're going to kill whatever it is they're hunting on any given day. It's nice, for a while, it's a nice change from the constant tension that they haven't been able to shake for the last few weeks. But it's short-lived – Dean really should've known it would be. It doesn't come as a surprise at all when Sam starts talking in that voice again, quietly and knowingly like he's making some kind of metaphorical point.

"It's good that things are better between Matt and his dad now."

"Mhm," Dean hums noncommittally. He knows exactly where this is going, he's got that familiar sinking feeling in his gut, but there's still a chance that if he doesn't engage, Sam will let it go.

"Do you think they can really work things out?" Sam asks. "You think, like … after so many years of being at odds with each other, they can still turn it around?"

"Anything's possible," Dean answers, still not giving Sam an inch, but inside he knows he's already lost this battle.

"That'd be good. I felt bad for him, it really sucks being the outcast. Family's where you're supposed to belong no matter what, you know?"

Dean rolls his eyes and growls a little in annoyance. "Alright, just spit it out, would ya? I'm not getting sucked in to this, if you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, shut up, you're giving me a headache."

"Oh, that's nice, Dean," Sam mutters sarcastically. "I'm just trying to make conversation."

"No you aren't," Dean accuses hotly. "You're trying to bait me into talking about Dad again. You think I don't know your tricks by now?"

"Okay, fine," Sam relents. "So then answer my question from before."

"What question?"

"Why wouldn't Dad tell me he came to check on me at Stanford? Why didn't _you_ tell me? I mean, you both had to know how I felt, I was never exactly subtle about it. He had to know how hurt I was when he told me never to come back! If he was really just trying to keep me safe, why didn't he ever tell me that?"

"How should I know?" Dean grips the steering wheel harder in an attempt to reign in his temper. "Maybe he thought if he knocked on your door, you'd slam it in his face! Which, by the way, I don't think is an unreasonable assumption! You made it pretty clear you didn't want anything to do with us anymore! This isn't all on him, you know, you said some pretty nasty shit to him too before you left!"

"Look, I'm not saying I didn't, okay?" Sam says exasperatedly. "I _know_ it's not all his fault, that's why I wanna find him so we can fix it! I just … I wish you wouldn't always be so quick to defend him. It's not like I'm saying I hate him or something. You _know_ how hard it was for me growing up, we both know you do. But you act like you have no idea what I'm talking about! You just pretend like nothing ever happened, like I'm completely making this shit up, and I'm not."

"God, you are such a basket case!" Dean cries. "Twenty minutes ago you were saying you knew he did the best he could! And now you're right back to being pissed off at him? How the hell do you flip the switch so quickly, you're like bi-polar or something!"

"Because!" Sam explodes, not even bothering to hold back anymore. "Because I've spent most of my life thinking the man didn't even like me, thinking he wished he had a different son! And that _hurt_ okay? He's my dad, all I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me, and I felt like he never was! That stuff you said about him being worried about me, about him checking up on me at school, I mean that's really nice and all, but it doesn't just erase the way I've felt for the last two decades! Dad may've been doing the best he could, but the fact is he didn't treat me the same as he treated you. That's not me being an angsty teenager, that's just something that's true. And you know what, it would be nice if just _once_ you took my side."

"That isn't fair. You have no _idea_ how many times I took your side!" Dean snaps. "Our whole lives, while you were off sulking and being all miserable about _everything_, I was the one running interference between you two! I was the one who was there for you when you were upset, I was the one who stuck up for you when Dad got fed up with you being a little shit all the time!"

"I was a kid!" Sam returns angrily. "What the hell did he expect? So I wasn't the perfect son, so I wasn't completely obedient a hundred percent of the time, so what? That's how kids are! If he didn't wanna deal with that, then why the hell did he even have me in the first place? If he wanted someone to just follow all his orders without even flinching then he should've gotten a dog! We were _children_, Dean! _He_ was supposed to be the adult, not you!"

Dean glares sideways at him, and takes a deep breath before he speaks. "I'm not getting into this with you, alright? If you're mad at Dad, tell it to him. I got stuck in the middle enough when we were kids. You've obviously got some serious issues with the man but I'm not just gonna sit here and let you take them out on me!"

"I'm not taking them out on you!" Sam protests. "I'm just trying to _talk_ to you about them! You're my brother, you're my partner! Who else am I gonna talk to? And you know what, if Dad were here then I _would_ be saying all this to him! But he's not, so what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," Dean says quietly. He really doesn't want to talk about this anymore, but Sam does have a point. And Dean's just as frustrated as Sam is, he's just better at internalizing it. Or, he's better at _pretending_ to internalize it, at the very least. "I just wish we could have one god damn conversation without it turning into a fight. You're always so freakin' aggro lately, I don't know what the hell's going on with you!"

The second the words pass Dean's lips, he knows they're a mistake. He wishes with everything he has in him that he could pull them back in and swallow them back down, but he can't and he knows what Sam's going to say before he even says it. He closes his eyes and sighs, gritting his teeth and praying Sam didn't hear him, or that Sam won't make the connection – _anything_ that will spare them having to finally have this conversation. But he knows it's useless. Sam's smarter then that. Even as a kid, he didn't ever miss a beat.

"You don't know what's going on," Sam repeats softly, a tiny little waver in his voice that catches Dean off guard. He'd expected Sam to be angry; not sad. When he glances over, Sam looks completely deflated – all of the fight in him just gone like someone pulled the plug. "You really have no idea? You don't know what could _possibly_ have happened that's made me a little volatile lately?"

"Sam," Dean starts heavily, but there's really no point in going any further then that. Once Sam gets something in his head, come hell or high water it's going to get said.

For a long time, though, he doesn't say anything at all. He slumps down a little in his seat and stares out the window with a shadowy expression on his face and for a moment Dean allows himself to hope Sam's going to let this go. But deep down Dean knows he won't, even though it sends his heart into his throat when Sam starts talking.

"I fucked everything up, Dean," Sam mumbles despondently.

Dean sighs again. "No you didn't."

"I really, really did," Sam insists, still staring out the window. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't done … what I did."

It makes Dean's heart ache to hear his brother sounding so miserable, especially considering the 'it' Sam's talking about is something Dean hasn't been able to stop thinking about since it happened. It makes him squirm to admit it, even just to himself, but there was a time when he really was in love with Sam. He can roll his eyes and shrug it off and call it stupid and girly, he can tell himself he was just young and confused and that he didn't know any better at the time, but he can't change the fact that he felt it – that somewhere, deep down in a place he's afraid to let himself go to, he _still_ feels it. All the cheap whiskey and even cheaper sex he'd hurtled himself into while Sam was away never filled up the hole Sam left in his chest. Even hunting didn't work; Dean could've lit up enough corpses to burn the whole world down, but nothing was the same when Sam was gone. There was still a big chunk of Dean that was missing.

Sometimes it feels like a million years ago now, but at the same time it feels like just yesterday and even though Sam went off to school and Dean had himself convinced it was over between them and would never happen again, it never stopped him from _wanting_ it. And then for a few glorious moments, he had it back. He had Sam's hands on him, Sam's teardrop-flavored lips against his, Sam's solid frame pressing him into the wall and giving him everything he'd spent years wanting. But it was gone just as quickly, and Dean doesn't have a hope of wrapping his head around that too; not after everything else. Not after Dad going missing and Sam's girl smoldering on the ceiling on the anniversary of their Mom's death. It's too much, so Dean ignored him when Sam tried to talk about it the next day. It makes Dean nauseous to even think about, but the horrible truth is Sam doesn't want him like he wants Sam. Not really; not anymore, at least. The look on Sam's face right after it happened told Dean everything he needed to know. In Sam's mind, it was a mistake – in Dean's, it was everything he's wanted for so long but has been terrified to ask for. So he's been avoiding talking about it, and he's certainly not planning on starting now. It's probably not the healthiest way of dealing with it, but it works.

"You didn't mess anything up," he says gently, instinctual big-brother protectiveness taking over and striking him with the need to console Sam, even if it slices him up inside to do it. "Like you said, it was a mistake. You were upset that night, and old habits, and all that. It doesn't have to change anything, we can just pretend it never happened and move on, okay?"

"No, that's not …" Sam trails off and exhales shakily. When Dean glances over, there are tears in Sam's eyes, but his expression has gone blank again in an eerie imitation of Dean's own emotionless mask; the one he's been perfecting his whole life but never wanted to pass on to Sam. When Sam speaks again, his voice is cold and detached and it makes Dean's gut clench painfully.

"Okay," he says evenly. "If that's what you want, okay."

"Isn't it what you want?" Dean asks, unable to keep his voice from breaking. He'd been so sure.

"You hungry?" Sam asks casually, stretching a little and readjusting himself in his seat. "I'm friggin' starving, man, let's get something to eat."

Dean clenches his jaw, his eyes suddenly burning with tears he absolutely refuses to let fall. "I – yeah, alright," he mutters dejectedly. "Whatever you need, Sammy."


End file.
